Page 17 of Hunter’s Barbs (Prime Omegaverse #5)
Fritz's eyes meet mine with intensity that makes breathing difficult. "This isn't about taking," he growls, voice dropping to register that vibrates through my bones. "This is about claiming. Completely. Permanently. Until no alpha—dragon or otherwise—could ever question who you belong to."
His possessive declaration shouldn't affect me as it does, shouldn't send fresh wave of slick around his knotted length.
I hate him for the violation, for the deception, for the permanent bond formed without consent.
Yet my body responds to his dominance with eager submission that makes mockery of my conscious resistance.
"I don't want this," I whisper, even as my hips begin moving unconsciously against his hand. "I don't want you."
"Your body disagrees," Fritz observes, increasing pressure of his fingers as he senses my approaching climax. "Submit, little omega. Submit to what you are, to who owns you now."
The command bypasses rational thought, triggering cascading submission response buried deep in omega biology.
Second orgasm hits with devastating force, inner walls clamping down on his still-knotted length as pleasure crests and breaks through me in waves that leave me sobbing and incoherent beneath him.
Fritz growls approvingly as my climax triggers another pulse of seed from his length, the claiming bite at my throat throbbing in perfect synchronicity with each new surge.
The connection between us strengthens with each shared pulse, neurochemical bond forming at cellular level that no force on earth can break.
"Good girl," he murmurs against my hair, the praise sending confusing warmth through system already overwhelmed with sensation. "Perfect omega."
I turn my face away, unable to bear the tenderness that feels more violating than the claiming itself.
Tears stream silently down my cheeks as reality settles with crushing weight.
Not the dragon claiming I've fantasized about for years, but permanent bonding to feline alpha through deception and tactical calculation.
We remain locked together as minutes stretch into eternity, his knot showing no signs of subsiding as promised forty minutes become sixty, then ninety.
My body responds to his continued presence with small aftershocks of pleasure that make me hate myself as much as I hate him, weakness of flesh making mockery of mind's rebellion.
The claiming bite at my throat pulses with each heartbeat, phantom sensations extending throughout my body as bond strengthens beyond anything I thought possible.
With each pulse, I feel growing awareness of Fritz's presence—connection that exists beyond physical proximity, beyond conscious control, beyond anything I ever imagined possible.
"The bond forms well," Fritz observes, fingers tracing claiming bite with surprising gentleness. "Strong connection, proper neurochemical exchange."
"How can you tell?" I ask despite myself, curiosity momentarily overriding resentment.
"I feel you," he says simply, golden eyes studying me with unnerving intensity. "Your emotions, your physical state, your... presence. The bond allows alpha to monitor omega's condition constantly."
Horror washes through me at the implication. "You can feel what I'm feeling? Read my thoughts?"
"Not thoughts," Fritz clarifies. "Emotional states, physical wellbeing, general location. Enough to ensure optimal protection and response to needs."
Another invasion of privacy, another layer of control I never consented to. The claiming bite isn't just visible mark of possession but biological tether that connects us at level I can never escape.
"And what do I get from this bond?" I ask bitterly. "Besides permanent connection to alpha I never wanted?"
Something complicated crosses Fritz's expression before commander's mask reasserts itself.
"Security. Protection. Biological stability.
Your heat cycles will regulate more effectively, your hormonal fluctuations will stabilize, your body will adapt fully to feline claiming, eliminating discomfort during future matings. "
All practical benefits, all focused on physical wellbeing rather than emotional connection. Of course. Commander Clawe approaches even permanent mating bond as tactical arrangement, biological necessity rather than meaningful partnership.
"And if I try to run?" I whisper, needing to know the extent of my new captivity. "If I attempt to reach dragon territory despite your claim?"
Fritz's expression hardens, pupils contracting to thin vertical slits. "The claiming bite makes escape impossible. Physical separation beyond certain distance causes severe neurological pain that increases until proximity is restored. You would collapse before reaching border."
Another chain I didn't consent to, another prison with no visible bars but just as effective as steel and stone. The knowledge settles like lead weight in my chest, extinguishing final flicker of hope that survived these past days of captivity.
Fritz shifts above me, adjusting our locked bodies into a more comfortable position without withdrawing his still-pulsing length. The movement causes his knot to press against different spots inside me, sending unwanted jolts of pleasure through my oversensitized system.
"We have considerable time before the knot subsides," he informs me, voice rough with lingering rut. "The final claiming requires extended connection for proper bond formation."
Before I can respond, his hand slides between our joined bodies, finding the sensitive bundle of nerves above where his knot stretches me open. The touch sends shock of sensation so intense I arch off the pallet with a broken cry.
"Stop," I gasp, trying to squirm away despite our locked bodies. "I can't—it's too much?—"
"You can," Fritz counters, continuing his merciless circles with devastating precision. "Your body needs constant stimulation during bonding to cement the neurochemical pathways."
His other hand moves to my breast, pinching and rolling the sensitive nipple between his fingers. The dual stimulation quickly rebuilds pressure I thought impossible after such intense release.
"Please," I sob, unsure whether I'm begging him to stop or continue as pleasure mounts against my will. "Please..."
A rumbling sound starts in his chest—not a growl but something deeper, continuous, vibrating through his entire body and into mine where we're joined. The sensation of it against my oversensitized skin makes me shudder with unwanted pleasure.
"You're... purring," I manage between gasping breaths as his fingers maintain their relentless rhythm.
"Feline response to successful claiming," Fritz explains, the rumbling intensifying as he speaks. "The vibration enhances pleasure for both alpha and omega during extended knotting."
As if to demonstrate, he shifts his hips slightly, causing the vibrations to transmit directly through his knot to where it presses against my most sensitive inner spots. The sensation is overwhelming—pleasure so intense it borders on pain, forcing another climax from my already exhausted body.
I convulse around him with a scream that echoes off stone walls, inner muscles clamping down on his barbed length. The barbs, fully extended during knotting, catch against my channel with exquisite friction that prolongs the orgasm beyond what should be humanly possible to endure.
Fritz's purring intensifies with evident satisfaction as my climax triggers another pulse of seed from his length. "Good omega," he murmurs against my hair, the praise sending confusing warmth through me despite my hatred for this forced connection. "Taking my knot so perfectly."
The tears flowing down my cheeks are both physical release and emotional devastation—body surrendering to pleasure while mind rebels against violation. Fritz licks them away with surprising gentleness, his textured tongue rasping against my skin in way that makes me shudder despite myself.
By the time his knot finally begins to subside, I've lost count of how many times I've shattered beneath him. My throat is raw from screaming, my body trembling with exhaustion, my mind floating in strange disconnected space that isn't quite consciousness or unconsciousness.
Fritz withdraws with careful movements that nonetheless send aftershocks of pleasure-pain through my oversensitized system. Seed and slick leak from my well-used entrance in obscene volume, physical evidence of claiming I can neither deny nor embrace.
Unlike previous encounters where he immediately retrieved his clothing and departed, Fritz remains beside me on the pallet, one hand tracing claiming bite with possessive satisfaction that makes me want to scream.
The tenderness of the gesture contrasts sharply with violation it represents, creating cognitive dissonance I have no framework to process.
"The medical staff will arrive shortly to check the claiming bite," he informs me, voice returned to its usual controlled register. "After confirming proper bond formation, you'll be moved to permanent quarters adjacent to command level."
The mundane practicality of his response creates jarring disconnect against life-altering violation that's just occurred.
How can he speak so calmly of schedules and arrangements when he's permanently altered my existence without consent?
When biological bond now connects us at level that transcends conscious choice or rational thought?
"I will never forgive you for this," I tell him, voice steady despite tear-streaked face and trembling limbs. "Never."
Fritz studies me for long moment, something almost like regret crossing his expression before commander's mask falls back into place.
"Forgiveness was never tactical objective," he says finally, rising from the pallet with fluid grace that emphasizes his inhuman nature.
"Security and territorial stability were primary concerns. "
As he retrieves his clothing and dresses with military efficiency, I curl into myself on the pallet, one hand rising to claiming bite that throbs with each heartbeat.
The mark pulses beneath my fingertips, reminder of chains I did not choose but cannot break.
With each pulse, I feel growing awareness of Fritz's presence even as he moves across the chamber—connection that exists beyond physical proximity, beyond conscious control.
Not the claiming I dreamed of, not the future I planned, but prison constructed of biology and neurochemistry rather than steel and stone.
Commander Clawe has claimed my body and marked me as his through deception and tactical calculation, but I silently vow he will never possess the core of who I am.
Even as the thought forms, claiming bond pulses between us with uncomfortable awareness that makes me wonder if anything can truly remain my own now that his mark rests upon my throat.